


Conversations: Seasons 3-4

by wearerofthehat



Series: Episode Related Conversations Between Raymond Reddington and Dembe Zuma [2]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: (Dembe's child abuse), Angst, Canon Compliant, DG?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings Realization, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, Red isn't her bio-dad, Red's twisted paternal feelings for Liz, Slash, Unreliable Narrator, WIP, but he behaves like her father all the same, imposter reveal compliant, lizzington undertones, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:45:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearerofthehat/pseuds/wearerofthehat
Summary: After the imposter reveal I’m using John Eisendrath’s reference to Red’s ‘twisted paternal feelings’ towards Liz as a license to characterise them as both paternal and romantic.Red stole the identity of Liz’s real father and decided to fill that role for himself. He spent 25-ish years loving her, protecting her from afar, wishing he was bringing her up. When he handed himself into the FBI he saw it as a fulfillment of that fatherly role. This is also why he feels entitled to behave as if he’s her father when it comes to Tom, Dom and Kirk.But living for an adult, flesh-and-blood Liz is very different to living for the idea of her taken from some childhood photos and the way he loves her has changed. Become romantic, charged. Only, he’s unconsciously repressed his romantic impulses towards her because they’re incompatible with the fatherly role he’s taken for himself in her life.Dembe knows what’s going on but he’s letting Red figure it out. And he will, after S4E22. Meanwhile, Dembe’s got his own relationship with Red to sort out. Liz and Red's relationship will drive this fic just as it drives the show, but the main relationship in this fic is meant to be the one between Red and Dembe.





	1. The Troll Farmer (No. 38)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dembe is confined by Solomon and is reminded of things he would rather forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied/referenced child abuse. And fair warning to anyone who might be a fan of Solomon's - he doesn't come off very well in this. Also, one of Solomon's lines from S3E3 is echoed in this chapter.

Dembe regained consciousness.

First he was aware of his physical discomfort. The ache in his cheekbone, ribs and knees on the squalid concrete floor and the pain in his shoulders from the way his wrists were bound behind his back. The second thing he was aware of was that he had company. His captor was sitting on the floor with one knee bent towards the ceiling and the other leg stretched out in front of him. He was sitting on a white handkerchief and he was so close to Dembe that his field of vision stopped at his captor's chest. Close enough to touch.

‘Good morning. You were down for longer than I expected.’ His voice was at once crooning and deadly. ‘I don’t think I introduced myself to you before. My name’s Matias Solomon and I’ll be your host for the foreseeable future.’

The veneer of hospitality only served to highlight the power he had over him. It was proprietorial and something deep inside Dembe trembled in remembered fear. He’d been here before. In squalor, lying prone on the hard floor with his hands bound behind his back. Under the power of men who thought they owned him. Thought they were entitled to use him in whatever way they wanted. Dembe craned his head off the concrete so that he could look his captor in the eyes. Solomon’s own head was canted to one side, and was that lasciviousness hiding behind that mask of affable geniality, or just plain maliciousness?

Dembe told himself that he was older than he was then. Stronger too, emotionally as well as physically. Then Solomon pulled a woman’s stocking out of the bag resting by his side and stood before dropping several billiard balls into it. He swung the makeshift torture device through the empty air a few times. Dembe was glad; this was a sort of pain he could deal with.

‘Do you like it?’ Solomon asked. ‘I find that the downward momentum and the weight of the balls gives a nice, solid thwack each time. And the bruises that it leaves behind are just lovely.’

Dembe didn’t reply but it seemed that Solomon didn’t expect him to.

‘I won’t use them on you just yet. I, too, am a man of honour and I won’t touch you until after the antidote has been given to your granddaughter.’

Dembe saw that Solomon was gloating. It appeared that he was so sure about his ability to cause physical pain that he didn’t think twice about giving up the added fear of uncertainty. And why bother with the pretence of the antidote? They both knew that the threat of the time released nerve agent was probably a bluff and that Solomon would not hesitate to use her as leverage over him again once he tired of torturing him.

‘Here’s how it’s going to go. I’m going to hurt you, and you’re going to talk eventually. Reddington isn’t going to save you. Just because you’d risk your life for him does not mean that he would do the same for you.’

Dembe spat on the floor, creating a wet splash on the concrete below his chin. Solomon had no idea. Of course he would risk his life for Red but not because he was paid to. He’d given his life to Red years ago. In turn, Red had entrusted him with his soul.

But it was true that he couldn’t rely on Red to save him.

Solomon had no way of reaching Red with a ransom demand even if he was inclined to and if everything went to plan it would be three weeks before Red realised anything was wrong. They weren’t due to make contact again until after Red and Liz arrived in Spain. He would have to free himself. And soon, before Solomon made him choose between Isabella and Elle or Raymond and Elizabeth.

Solomon had just finished putting away the billiard balls and the stocking when his mobile rang. He picked it up and listened before talking into it.

‘Oh, really?’ He said, chuckling. ‘Well, that is a stroke of luck. I know just what to do with this.’

Solomon hung up and turned back to Dembe.

‘You’ll never guess what’s happened. Elizabeth Keen handed herself over to the Russian embassy and announced herself as a KGB sleeper agent! Now all we have to is get one of our men to arrange her transport to Moscow and we’ll be able to dispose of her just like that.’

Dembe’s heart constricted.

Later, after they’re reunited, Dembe will gently rib Red about the mess he’d made of his exit strategy. He’ll ask him how he missed that Lyle’s sister was staying with him and why he didn’t give the Troll Farmer content for Liz ahead of time. Red will shrug amiably and comment on the way everything looks far clearer in hindsight. Later, they will sit companionably for a snatched moment of peace while they plan their next move on the Cabal.

But in that moment Dembe was flooded with fear on Liz’s behalf, and Red’s. Red might have given him his soul but his life belonged to Liz. Red’s sense of purpose, his sense of self-worth – such as it was – were completely bound up in her and Dembe knew that if Liz was killed it would be practically impossible for him to cope.

It occurred to Dembe almost as an afterthought that if they both died then Solomon would have no further use for him and would likely kill him as well. He kept himself calm and still. There was nothing he could do. He would just have to hope that Red would find a way to save Liz as he always had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're at all worried that a few chapters down the track it will come out that Solomon raped Dembe after all, don't be. I'm not going to go there. This is really just to serve as a reminder of the abuse he's already suffered, not add to it.


	2. Marvin Gerard (No. 80)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red misses Dembe and confides in Liz

‘When I look at you, that’s what I see. I see my way home.’

Red had his head and shoulders tilted back, looking at the night sky. He could feel the warmth of Liz’s attention against his cheek and his neck but he didn’t return her gaze. He was afraid that if he met her eyes she’d find something to remind her of how much she resented him.

She’d asked him how he dealt with people looking at him with fear. As if they were the same. As if he hadn’t spent the early years of his career ensuring that anyone who merely heard his name would fear him.

And if it wasn’t that evening, previous experience showed that she would remember. Somewhere along the line he would do something or fail to do something that reminded her that he was the monstrous criminal who turned her life upside down.

For now though, for now he would savour the moment. Memorise how it felt to have her look at him in wonder and affection.

After the movement of the ship took Polaris out of his field of vision he turned back into the storage container without looking at her. He felt her come in behind him and he closed the door against the chill. He went to the selection of books in the shelf, all of which were favourites he had read many times over and would happily read again. He selected one and sat down to read it but after a while he found that he couldn’t give it the attention it deserved. He put it back and selected another one, only to repeat the process a short time after that.

All the while he could feel Liz’s attention on him like an itch all the way down his spine, as if he were an object being studied. This was fitting, he supposed, for a criminal in close confines with a criminal profiler.

‘What’s wrong with you tonight?’

Liz asked in exasperation when Red started drumming his fingers against the armrest of the chair.

Red clasped his hands in his lap and wondered how much of the truth he should tell her. He rebelled at the idea of revealing so much of himself to her and this was one secret of his that no one could argue she had a right to know. But there was no real reason not to tell her. And he remembered the way she talked to him after he’d silenced Anton Velov. She had accused him of being incapable of caring for her; of being incapable of caring for _anyone_. If he gave her this maybe she would remember it even after her own attitude towards with him swung back from affection to resentment.

He looked at her properly for the first time since he tilted his head back to look at the stars.

‘I miss Dembe.’

Oh, and how he missed him. Missed his calm presence and his gentleness and strength. The woman with him might be his way home, but he had grown accustomed to having Dembe along with him on the journey.

‘But it’s only been a day since you saw him last.’

‘Yes. And every day around this time we make a point of spending time together. Talking to each other, and I have no idea when I will see him next.’

‘You spend practically every minute of every day with him as it is.’

Red shook his head.

‘During the day he is my bodyguard and driver. The one who takes my calls and watches my back. In the evening he is my confidante. A source of strength and calm. My friend.’

‘Oh.’

Liz thought of all the times she told him he had no friends. No one in the world who cared for him. He had never corrected her but looking at him now there was no disbelieving it. What she’d thought of as Red’s uncharacteristic behaviour spoke of the absence of calm and strength Dembe’s presence provided.

And they made time to talk to each other every day, did they?

Liz couldn’t help but compare that to her own relationship with Tom. Even when she’d thought that they were no different to any other married couple, when had she ever really made time to simply talk to Tom? More often than not she would talk about carving out some time for them, then arrive home late from work to find him either angry or absent.

Red saw that Liz was upset and sought to distract her from it.

‘The last time Dembe and I were separated indefinitely he was fighting in South Sudan. After he graduated university he wanted to come back and work for me straight away. I told him no. That he needed to spend at least two years living his own life before he decided to live in mine. I had some idea that he might spend time with his daughter, maybe become a teacher.’

He broke off laughing.

‘You cannot imagine my dismay when he told me he was going to fight in some war.’

He had thought at first that it was some act of petty rebellion: _You don’t want me to endanger my life for you? Well just watch me as I go find this completely unrelated cause to die for instead._ They’d fought bitterly about it. Eventually Dembe had made it clear to him that this was a cause he actually believed in, and that after telling him to go off and live his own life Red didn’t really have any say in what he chose to do with it.

It had been horrible.

Their relationship was still evolving, he hadn’t yet come to entirely see him as an adult or rely on him as heavily as he did. Even then he had hated the idea of him embroiled in the violence of the Sudanese region, that he might get shot, or blown apart at any moment. When Dembe returned Red swore to himself that he would never send him away again.

Now every minute, every second took them further from him and Red couldn’t shake the notion that he was heading in entirely the wrong direction. He resolved to seize the first chance he had to turn back and so that he and Liz could fight the Cabal on their own terms.

And Dembe would fight with them.


	3. Eli Matchett (No. 72)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red receives Glen’s call that Dembe’s been taken. In order to distract himself – and Liz – from his helpless fear and anxiety he tells her about the time he wasn’t arrested for smoking pot.

Red noticed that Liz had been uncharacteristically withdrawn and moody, and made an educated guess about the source of her anxiety.

‘It sounds like that off-duty cop you shot will survive.’

Liz knew that he was trying to make her feel better by focusing on the fact that the man was going to live, but she really didn’t appreciate having to talk about it with Red at all.

‘I should never have shot him in the first place.’

‘Lizzy, he would have shot you if you hadn’t shot first. I, for one, know exactly which eventuality I prefer.’ Red could tell she wasn’t convinced. ‘And really, that’s the first time that I have ever personally escorted one of my – or one of my accomplice’s – victims to the hospital so I’d say you’re having a good influence on me.’

That did get a smile out of her. It was small and unwilling but Red found it unbelievably precious all the same.

Then Red’s phone rang and he picked it up immediately. It was Glen, with news on Dembe. He told him all he could and they arranged to meet the following day so that he could collect the relevant photos. Once he hung up Red cast back to his previous conversation with Liz. He’d intended to pick up the dangling strands of the conversation as if nothing had happened, but there really were no dangling threads and Liz wasn’t having any of it in any case.

‘What is it?’

Red felt the muscle jump in his jaw. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to think about it. There was nothing he could do that night and if he allowed it, it would drive him mad.

‘Dembe’s been taken.’

He was vaguely aware that his voice had gone raspy and scared.

Liz was worried for Dembe, but she also pitied Red. He’d been a mess when he thought that he was just going to be separated from Dembe for an indeterminate length of time, what must he be going through knowing Dembe is actually in danger?

‘He’ll be alright.’

An angry scowl passed across Red’s face. It was there and gone in an instant but that, more than anything, showed Liz how much Red was affected by Dembe’s abduction. She’d never made him angry before. She’d made him impatient, disappointed, exasperated and hurt but he’d never, ever betrayed the slightest hint of anger.

Liz had unknowingly touched on a raw nerve. Platitudes. Only this was Liz – not Dembe – and throwing it back in her face wasn’t an option. She wouldn’t understand.

All Red could do was grasp at what shreds of self possession and dignity he had left and it was made all the harder by the pitying way Liz was looking at him. Why on earth had he made himself so vulnerable to her in the first place? But he’d only wanted to give himself one evening of missing Dembe before he began to relearn how to live without him.

Which hadn’t exactly turned out as he intended, but by God was he glad for that. If he hadn’t turned back he would still be on his way to Spain. He wouldn’t even know that anything was wrong.

And now he’d returned only to find that Dembe had been taken and he wouldn’t think of it. He couldn’t.

Red re-fixed his attention Liz and gave her an approximation of his most engaging smile.

‘Did I ever tell you about that time I wasn’t arrested for doing marijuana?’ 

Liz bit back a sigh. She knew what Red was doing. He was diverting attention away from Dembe and his concern for him. And he was concerned. There was an underlying desperation to his change in topic, and Liz understood that she had real power over him. If she wanted to she could find out just how capable the Concierge of Crime was of caring for another human being. See for herself just what he looked like when he was driven more than half mad with fear for someone else’s wellbeing.

All she had to do was refuse to be distracted.

Instead, she let him tell his story.

‘No,’

‘Ah well,’ Red begun. ‘I was eighteen, and I knew people were getting arrested for using it, of course, but I never thought that it would happen to _me_. So one night, I’d lit up in a nice, secluded spot in the gardens, just minding my own business, when I was accosted by this female police officer. She came up right behind me and I didn’t even know she was there until she spoke. I jumped right out of my skin. She was thirty years old, which seems so young to me now, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared of a woman in my life.

I was sitting on the ground, and when I squinted up at her I wasn’t at all sure that she wasn’t a hallucination. She was tall, and her legs seemed to go on for miles. She said something I didn’t quite catch, and then a strange sort of courage came over me. I was already facing arrest. So I held out the joint I’d been smoking and offered her a draw. She declined, but I could tell my audacity amused her.’

Red paused, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

‘I offered to go down on her if she promised not to arrest me.’

Liz was careful not to react, more than half convinced that Red had made up the story on the spot.

‘And did she take you up on that?’

Red just smiled broadly at her, and Liz scoffed in disbelief.

‘Oh, Lizzy, you should have seen me then. I was pretty. Slender, with delicate facial features...’

Liz saw an opportunity to the back at him for saying that thirty was young. Maybe it was to him, but had he forgotten that she’d only just turned thirty-one?

‘I bet you had hair.’

Red appeared to completely miss the fact that she’d called him old.

‘Oh my word, yes. It was thick and wavy and long,’

He gestured with his hand from his shaved head down to his shoulder and around his ears demonstrating to her just how long his hair had been.

She could imagine it. With that mouth, and that tongue…

Something of her line of thought must have shown on her face but his reaction to it was strange. His expression closed off completely, and was that shame that flickered across his face just before the mask appeared?

Red was mentally kicking himself. He hadn’t intended to take it that far. There was nothing inherently flirtatious in that story. There was the suggestion of sex, of course, but the last time he’d told that story was with Sam on the day that he killed him, and he certainly hadn’t been flirting with him. If it wasn’t the story itself then it was the context. But this was _Elizabeth_ he was speaking to. A young woman he might have raised as his own daughter if circumstances had been different. Only two years ago he’d told Sam – promised him – that he would protect her, love her just as he had.

It was the renewal of a vow that had been woven into his very being from the moment she was born. A vow that had carried him through more than two decades of darkness and violence and would sustain him for the rest of his life. It was unwavering and unchanging and he shouldn’t have spoken to her like that.

He’d simply got carried away. Forgotten who he was speaking to, for a moment. He cast about for a topic of conversation that was safe and utterly sexless. It took a while but he finally settled on the summer he’d spent as a teen laying carpets for Albert Kodagolian on Lake Charlevoix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That reference to the moment Liz was born goes back to Red's line to Liz in S3E12, about how Katerina went from hating the thought of having a child to loving her in the second she was born. Don't ask me what he was doing there, but to have known that fRed must have been inside the delivery room or just outside of it. And I am assuming that he had some stake in Katerina's - and Liz's - wellbeing prior to stealing the Real Raymond Reddington's identity. His relationship with Dom seems to suggest as much.
> 
> I've taken inspiration for the story Red tells Liz from the one that Red tells Sam in S1E8. 
> 
> Finally, I don't know if it's very clear but Liz cares about the age gap far less than she pretends. As for Red, it's less about years and more about the paternal role he's taken for himself in her life. Over the course of this story he will learn that she's become far more than the girl he swore to protect when she was four, but it's going to take him a while.


	4. The Djinn (No. 43)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz questions Red on his sexuality. He takes it rather well, until she asks him leading questions about his relationship with Dembe.

Red sat on a chair not far from Liz, staring at the wall. He had told her that they had found the place they held Dembe, but not him. It had been a while and he hadn’t spoken since.

Liz remembered the almost desperate way he had changed the conversation when they first found out Dembe had been taken, and cast about for a distraction. She found one that might have been a faux pas with anyone else, but she didn’t think Red would take offence.

‘That rant you gave Bahram, about how he gave his son a sex change rather than deal with the fact that he was gay. Was that personal?’

Red blinked at her for a moment, then broke into a slow smile.

‘Come now, Agent Keen. Do you use innuendo and half hearted hints for every criminal you interrogate?’

Liz reviewed her evidence. There was the outrageously flamboyant performance he used to get her out of a tight spot in the Syrian Embassy in that first year. If Tom had taught her anything it was that the best performances had at least a shred of truth in them and Red _was_ an uncommonly flamboyant man. His love of fine clothes and fine food. His expressiveness, in his facial features and the way he gestured with his hands when he spoke. Ultimately, there was something sensual, sensitive about him that was at odds with the conventional norms of heterosexual masculinity.

‘Are you…’

She broke off before asking if he was gay. The veritable conga line of previous – female – romantic partners she’d seen him with couldn’t all be beards. And the stories. There was no doubting he loved women.

‘Are you bi?’

Red laughed warmly at her.

‘I’ve had a number of physical relationships with men, yes.’

Liz grinned, responding to Red’s good humour.

‘Ok, let me guess… Fredrick Hemstead, the unpublished writer?’

‘Ha, yes, how _did_ you guess?’

‘Red, no one just buys a home for their waiter. He must have meant a lot to you.’

Red turned wistful, nostalgic.

‘He was entirely ordinary. Ordinary job, certainly ordinary to look at, but still so very remarkable. And his sense of humour, Lizzy, I really do think you would have loved it.’

Liz suddenly remembered the letter Red tried to read out to her and wished that she’d let him read it out in full. The one that started with “what is up with all the rabbits…?” before she interrupted him, pressing for information on the Courier. She regretted it but it also reminded her of her old determination to not be entertained by Red, or charmed by him. Now here she was on the run with him. Relying on him to keep her safe and sane. Living his life.

Two years ago – even two months ago – she would have thought it unimaginable. Shameful, even. But she no longer had the luxury of those tidy distinctions between her professional relationship with Red and her personal one with him. And in that moment she didn’t want that line in the sand. She was enjoying Red’s good humour, and the fact that she was the reason for it.

‘What about Ivan’s brother?’

Red badly supressed a smile.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You were targeted by a two person con team. One stole your money while the other kept you busy. Typically, the distraction is a bit more physical than a nice lunch.’

‘You’re right of course.’

Red conceded gladly. He loved that Liz had seen him, pinned him down. Caught him out in something that was certainly not a lie – it _had_ started out as a nice lunch, after all – but she’d seen more of him than he’d originally bargained for and it was enthralling.

‘While Ivan had had his hand in my bank account, Boris had his hand in altogether more intimate parts of my anatomy.’

Liz did a double take at that and Red smirked at her, practically daring her to make the predictable conclusion about his sexual preferences. She ignored it and continued on in the same vein as before.

‘Are you and Dembe…’

The humour drained out from him all at once and he broke her off before she finished the sentence.

‘No.’

His denial was emphatic, but Liz wasn’t going to be put off so easily.

‘Really? You clearly love each other, and there was that moment when you were saying goodbye before we ran…’

Red and Dembe had hugged and then afterwards Red had pulled back, keeping his hand slung around Dembe’s neck. They seemed to hold each other’s gazes for a long time and for one crazy moment Liz had thought Red would pull Dembe down into a kiss. Perhaps it wasn’t so crazy after all.

Red knew exactly what she was talking about and it shocked him that he’d been transparent enough that she picked up on it.

‘No, Lizzy. It’s not… We’re not… I need my friendship with Dembe and I can’t risk losing him. Not for anything and certainly not for that.’

It had been decades since Red’s last real, romantic relationship. For him, sex was recreational. There was often affection but never any real intimacy. He’d even come to see sex as sordid which didn’t put him off. Quite the opposite; he embraced it and found a perverse glee in waving his sexual history in other people’s faces.

All of this was worlds away from how he thought about Dembe. Their relationship was innocent and intimate. Essential.

There was more to it than that, but Red had said all that he was willing to on the subject. He left the room before Liz could question him further.  
There was a camper bed tucked into one of the dressing rooms and he lay there for some time, trying to convince himself he was tired enough to go to sleep. After a while he found himself thinking about Liz’s fantasy. A normal, nuclear family. For the first time he had a real understanding of what he did to her when he sauntered into her life. She’d been married and about to adopt a child – on the brink of realising her dearest wish – and he took that from her. He didn’t regret it. It hadn’t been real and if he hadn’t intervened she would never have found out. But all of that was fast losing relevance as it looked like Liz would return to Tom anyway. That she had, in fact, already done so.

Somehow related to that thought was his knowledge that Liz was due for her period and that she didn’t have it. Ever since he’d first learnt what they were he’d habitually kept track of the cycle of any woman he had regular contact with. There were signs: mood swings, stomach cramps and the increased frequency of trips to the toilet, during which they assumedly swapped used tampons for new ones. Any of these things by themselves couldn’t be said to add up to much, but it was another thing entirely when they appeared simultaneously and at regular monthly intervals. He never let on that he knew when they had it. And these days it just one of those things about which he would pick up on new information and store it without conscious thought.

So he knew Liz was due and in such close confines it would be impossible to miss. But she was moody. Distracted. Her appetite had changed. Red knew there was a likely explanation for all of that, but he kept himself from putting a name to it. Thinking of it.

Their current lifestyle was all too risky as it was and any further complications would be … inconvenient.


	5. Arioch Caine (No. 50)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red helps Dembe with his gunshot wound after they're reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I've been travelling for the last four weeks and I thought I could keep up my regular posting schedule, but clearly not.

Red sat behind Dembe and helped him with his bandage. They passed it back and forth, wrapping it around Dembe's stomach as they did so. Every touch they shared made Red feel as if he was putting himself back together even as it was Dembe he was administering to.

When he heard that Dembe was dead he felt his strength go out of him all at once and Liz had to guide him onto a nearby bench before his knees gave out entirely. He got a grip on himself over the course of the next few minutes, supressed the urge to weep.

Instead he had calmly declared bloody vengeance.

The thing about a revenge spree was that you twisted your grief into hatred and externalised it, visiting it upon those who had dared take your loved one from you. As long as you hunted and killed in their name you could convince yourself that you were living for them and that in some way, they in turn lived through you.

Only that was a lie. They were dead and there was no bringing them back. All that a vengeance spree on Dembe’s behalf would have achieved was to twist his memory, his legacy, until it was unrecognisable.

‘If you had really died I would have sought revenge for you. Hunted down Solomon and made him pay. Convinced myself that Elizabeth and I could take the Cabal down that way. There would have been no stopping me.’

There was a memory of grief and hatred in his voice, but also a hint of the confession about it. Dembe understood that Red knew he wouldn’t have approved and that he was ashamed by it.

Dembe took Red’s hand as he reached around to hand him the bandage, and rested it against his heart so that Red could feel it beat.

‘But I am alive.’

‘Yes,’

Red’s voice came out soft and breathy, more sigh than speech and he leaned his forehead against Dembe’s shoulder, reliving the moment when Dembe burst through that hanger with guns blazing.

‘Ah, Dembe,’ Red’s voice was soft and reverent, and Dembe twisted around to look at him, dislodging Red’s head from his shoulder. ‘I believe in you like nothing else. When you appeared at that hanger I experienced this moment of supreme awe and faith. I just knew that everything was going to be alright. Because you were there. Alive again.’

Dembe had appeared through the doors of that hangar with the light shining behind him and both arms outstretched with a gun in each hand. There was something about the light, the posture, the context of returning to life that felt familiar.

Red huffed a wry laugh at himself.

‘And on the third day…’

He said it with false solemnity, enjoying that he was making light of something that was revered by so many.

‘Raymond,’

Just the way Dembe said his name was enough to convey his disapproval. It wasn’t the blasphemy that he found offensive. The Son of God meant very little to him, but he didn’t like being treated as if he was an object of worship. Red understood but found that he rather liked the parallel in any case. Other people looked to Jesus to save their souls. He had Dembe. And it might not have been a true resurrection but it had certainly felt as if Dembe had returned from the dead to save him.

Red just felt so overwhelmingly grateful for having Dembe in his life, so fond of him that he came perilously close to forgetting all the reasons why he should limit himself to expressing it with words and platonic touches. He imagined raising up onto his knees and leaning forward so that he could press his body against Dembe’s back and lean down to kiss him on the shoulder exactly as he had Madeline Pratt. It would be slow and lingering. Soft, but with such intensity that Dembe would know exactly what he’d do to him if only he allowed it. Red might have actually done it, but then his eyes focused on the brand seared into the flesh of Dembe’s right shoulder blade and his burgeoning arousal turned to self disgust and determination.

That was why he would never touch him. Not like that.

Dembe had survived eight years of abuse as a child and from what Red could tell it had affected Dembe's attitude towards sex. He didn’t have it. Isabella had been the result of an anomaly.

In that first year after he’d taken Dembe Red had been so worried that the boy might follow his example as a criminal – a killer – that he’d completely neglected to worry that he might try to follow his example as a lover. If he had, he might have at least taught him about contraception but as it was Red hadn’t even known what had happened until after the girl’s father came banging on the front door ready to kill Dembe for daring to defile his daughter. Red got him to calm down, promised a small fortune for child support and sent him on his way before going to find Dembe. He’d told him he was going to be a father and then raised his eyebrows at him and asked him how it was. Dembe had replied that it was alright. Red quickly gathered that it wasn’t false modesty; Dembe had truly found the act that underwhelming. Red had said that it was meant to be much better than alright, that he could find specialised therapists to help him with it if he wanted but Dembe had declined.

And that was that.

As far as Red knew he hadn’t had any lovers since, and certainly no male ones. He supposed something might have happened in South Sudan but Dembe hadn’t volunteered the information and Red hadn’t asked. They only really talked of his sex life. Red might have felt bad for talking about it to him at all but he could tell that Dembe did get some sort of kick out of it and he took a secret pleasure out of knowing that for Dembe, listening to him talk about his own experiences and fantasies was as erotic as it ever got.

Red knew all too well that if he dwelled on that too long he’d be right back to wanting to kiss him, leading to an endless spiral of self loathing and arousal and he was glad when they finished off the bandage so he could put some distance between them. 

Dembe knew that Red was eager to be done but he decided that it would be best not to ask why. So he held his peace, even when Liz went over to him and told him that Red had suggested that she do his bandages from now on.


	6. Sir Crispin Crandall (No. 86)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nap time in the jet

Red hung up on the Director and sat for a moment, soaking up his success. He’d perfectly executed a high stakes bank heist and robbed Peter of his exit strategy. Peter had refused to exonerate Liz but Red could tell that he was scared. He’d make him regret not taking the out he’d given him.

Red watched Liz sleep, glad that she’d been able to get some rest. She’d had a difficult few days, by turns cheerful and pessimistic. And her body had changed. Her breasts appeared heavier, her stomach rounder, her hips wider. He knew why that was but he didn’t think about it. Instead he sat for a moment watching her and after a while he realised that he was breathing in time with her. It was fitting. Every breath he took, every time his heart beat was for her.

At some point he pulled himself away and went to sit beside Dembe.

As soon as he sat down he smelt something that was at once new and familiar. Before he knew what he was doing he leaned in towards Dembe the smell of rosemary and lemongrass washed over him. _Mine_ , Red thought, and it was savage and unbidden. His mouth was bare inches from Dembe’s neck and he had the sudden urge to bite and suck. Mark him, make him his. But he wouldn’t. He let out a shuddering exhale and leaned back into his own chair.

‘You’re wearing my shampoo.’ Red said, and his voice rasped a bit at the end.

Dembe must have showered while they were going after Crispin. The bathroom in the jet was a thing of luxury and a saving grace when hideouts often lacked basic amenities.

‘Yes.’ Dembe said, ‘I haven’t had any of my own shampoo since before Solomon took me. If you don’t mind I’ll continue to use it until I get my own.’

Red averted his gaze and swallowed visibly.

‘You can use it for as long as you want,’ Red said, when what he was thinking was you can use it always. Always mine.

Red pushed that thought away and its accompanying shame. Really, this was ridiculous. He couldn’t keep avoiding his friend like a scalded cat. He’d just have to get better at supressing his attraction. He cast about for a topic that would dampen the mood. 

‘Solomon found us there on Crispin’s arc in the sky. Tried to kill Elizabeth and me.’

‘I am glad Elizabeth was with you.’

Red understood what he meant. Two years – even two months ago – Dembe would’ve said that he should have been with him. Red knew that he’d always hated it every time he had been in a dangerous situation with only Liz for back up. Dembe hadn’t trusted her to look out for him, and at times had even thought her a real danger to him in her own right. By saying that he was glad Liz was with him Dembe was acknowledging that he and Liz had built a real sense of trust and responsibility over their time on the run.

Red smiled at Dembe and his face transformed to become soft and affectionate. And exhausted. He really hadn’t slept all that much in the past couple of months, what with Dembe missing, and then the unnecessary distance he’d put between them after he'd helped him with his bandage.

Red rested his head on Dembe’s shoulder and the smell of Dembe’s – his – shampoo wafted over him again. Having set aside the possessiveness the smell had roused in him it now had far more settling associations. Of strength and calm. Peace.

‘I love you.’

Dembe went to say it back but Red was already asleep. Instead Dembe kissed the top of his head and rested his cheek against Red’s shaved scalp.

Liz woke an hour or so later and found them with Red still sleeping with his head on Dembe’s shoulder. She thought at first the Dembe was asleep as well but he sensed that they were being watched and opened his eyes. He smiled at her but he gave her a look that told her to leave them alone. It wasn’t a harsh, angry look, just one that they would all spend time together later. Once Red was awake.

Liz took the hint and went over to the other end of the plane. She’d never seen Red so vulnerable, so trusting and even with all he’d told her of his relationship with Dembe she wouldn’t have believed that he was capable of it. He was different with her. With her he made himself a tower of strength for her to lean on and did his best to hide it whenever he was weak. That first evening on the ship when he’d confided in her about missing Dembe it had been an exception, a privilege, even, and it hadn’t lasted. When they discovered that Dembe had been taken Red had been angry and terrified but he’d done his level best to go on as if nothing was wrong. For her. And Liz knew with sudden certainty that Red didn’t need to hide those antisocial, weak emotions when he was with Dembe. The anger, the fear, the hurt.

Liz told herself she couldn’t be jealous of Dembe. So what, if it turned out that his bond with Red was stronger than hers? She’d never wanted any sort of relationship with Red anyway. But the words were less than empty, especially after several weeks of having Red all to herself.

Meanwhile Dembe knew that he’d hurt Liz’s feelings, and that Red wouldn’t want to miss a moment of her company. So he berated himself for his selfishness and squeezed Red’s thigh. Red groaned into Dembe’s shoulder.

‘What is it?’ Red asked, and his voice was husky with sleep.

‘Elizabeth’s awake.’

‘Really?’ And with that Red rushed over to her, calling out to her as he went. ‘Lizzy! Did I ever tell you about the time I spent in Bermuda? The island, not the shorts…’

Red appeared so happy, so eager that he reminded Liz of an overexcited puppy. Dembe stood behind him, smiling and Liz was sure that Red reminded him of a puppy also. They grinned at each other over Red’s shoulder, sharing their joy in their friend’s good humour and really only half listening to his tale of his time in Bermuda (the island, not the shorts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole shampoo thing? I might not have happened like this in canon, but as far as I'm concerned Red and Dembe do share shampoo. In Ian Garvey Conclusion Red gushes over the smell of Garvey's shampoo and then asks Dembe for his opinion. After Dembe confirms that it smells lovely Red says 'you and I need to get some.' As if it's the most natural thing in the world for them to pick out bath and shower supplies together.


	7. Zal Bin Hassan (No. 31)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samar, Dembe and Liz are all reckless individuals of one sort or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another late update and honestly, I can't promise they'll become more regular any time soon. Uni finishes in a little over a month and I need to complete my thesis. Once that's done, there's the fact that I'm going to run out of my pre-writen drafts after the next couple of chapters so I'll be writing them as I go along. 
> 
> But for all that, I'm really grateful that you're reading this and I hope you'll continue.

‘What would you have done if Samar hadn’t let you have her brother?’ asked Dembe.

Red shrugged.

‘I would have arranged the meeting with Mr Diaz through other means. I don’t have to bargain with people to get my way.’

Dembe nodded, unsurprised with his answer. He’d just been interested to see which way Red would have forced the issue. He really hadn’t needed to ask Samar to give her brother to him in the first place; his men already had him. That Red allowed her to decide her brother’s fate demonstrated his respect for her.

‘She did well today,’ said Dembe.

Red nodded.

‘Yes. I can’t truly say the same for myself. If I’d only been quicker on the uptake, if I’d only warned her earlier she wouldn’t have been taken.’

‘Perhaps. But when the attack happened you told her to stay hidden. That there were people already on their way. Her only job was to survive. She did not listen.’

Red scoffed good naturedly.

‘Yes, there is that.’

He paused for a moment. He did admire her of her courage, though at the time he’d been rather more exasperated than admiring. But perhaps that said more about him.

‘I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be willing to die for your country.’

‘I don’t know, Raymond. I’m not one to talk about patriotism.’

South Sudan wasn’t his country, after all. He was born in Sierra Leone, though that really hadn’t influenced him all that much as a person. He’d only been six years old when he was driven from one side of the continent to the other.

‘No, you chose to fight in the Sudanese region because you sympathised with the plight of the South Sudanese people to form their own government.’

Dembe became uncharacteristically sheepish.

‘What?’ asked Red.

‘I didn’t just go to war out of altruism. I also wanted to show you that I was ready to work for you.’

Red stared at him.

‘You went to war in some foolhardy attempt to what… prove yourself to me?’

Dembe smiled.

‘Not so foolish. Admit it, you thought that in the two years after college I’d establish myself an ordinary life. Decide against working for you at all.’

Red stared at him for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. It was true. He’d thought that he’d save himself the trouble of denying Dembe outright by giving him a chance to change his mind. But even then Dembe had seen right though him.

Red turned reflective, though no less warm.

‘You did prove yourself to me. Before you went to South Sudan I didn’t want you working with me. I thought that I’d have to always keep an eye on you, always dividing my attention between the business at hand and keeping you out of danger.’

Red had made sure that Dembe was trained in self-defence, of course. And that he knew his way around a gun, in case his connection with Dembe put him in danger. But he’d always believed that the best way to protect him would be to keep him as far from his business as possible, and Red had always thought that reaching adulthood would enable Dembe to have a life that was separate from his own.

‘But when I met you at the airstrip after those two years… In just one look I knew that you’d become someone I would gladly have protecting me.’

Dembe had already been tall when he went off to war but he’d been lanky and slender, still somehow boyish. During his time in Sudan he’d filled out and bulked up in a way that was indisputably manly, an effect that was enhanced by his shaved head. He carried himself differently as well; there was always an uncanny stillness about him but now there was a deadly potential in it. Like a big cat crouched to pounce.

It was in that moment that Red became suddenly, incredibly attracted to Dembe.

His reaction must have been all too transparent. But Red had smoothed out his expression into one of pure, uncomplicated joy. When he hugged Dembe, when he kissed him on both cheeks he told himself that he would go this far and no further.

In the decade since they’d built up a repertoire of casual, emotionally intimate touches that were in no way sexual. Red told himself it was enough – certainly more than he deserved – and if it was difficult, well, it was well worth it to preserve their friendship. His attraction to Dembe ebbed and flowed. He could go weeks, months without thinking of it, and there had been times when he’d thought he had managed to excise it from himself completely. But over the past few months it had become increasingly difficult to ignore.

‘You’re avoiding Elizabeth,’ Dembe said after a long pause.

‘Yes,’ Red affirmed, his tone neutral. ‘She let slip that she and Tom had to change locations after their first meeting point was compromised. Harold was thankfully able to warn them in time.’

‘And?’ Dembe asked, distrusting Red’s apparent nonchalance about the near miss.

Dembe was right; Red wasn’t nearly so sanguine about it as he’d have him believe. He hadn’t told Liz that she should have listened to him in the first place, but it was a near thing. He’d warned her that meeting with Tom was a bad idea when he called to suggest it. Indeed, he’d told her weeks ago that she shouldn’t contact Tom at all. He’d made her promise, though that apparently hadn’t stopped her from giving Tom her number. She, of course, would be defiant and glib and would probably expect him to be grateful to Tom for finding and securing Karakurt. As if it would have been impossible without his interference. Protecting Liz, clearing her name was _his_ job and it galled him to have to share it with Tom, of all people. But Red knew how selfish and petulant that would sound so he only smiled and tilted his head.

‘And what? Everything’s fine, and I can’t actually ground her and take away her phone privileges, can I?’

Dembe looked unconvinced.

‘If she were taken today I think we would have been able to adapt our plans to fit,’ said Red. ‘Things are coming together nicely. We’ve weakened the Director’s position within the Cabal and we’ve taken his safety net. The meeting with the Foreign Minister of Venezuela is arranged and Harold has Karakurt. Now it’s only a matter of collecting the care package.’

Red broke off, laughing. 

‘We’re so close to finishing this I can practically taste it.’


End file.
